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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958705">"No, it's good..."</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub'>DenmarkStreetGutterClub</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith, Strike (TV 2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Guilty Pleasures, Masturbation, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 01:41:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29958705</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenmarkStreetGutterClub/pseuds/DenmarkStreetGutterClub</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin has a date. Strike is frustrated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Robin Ellacott/Cormoran Strike</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>41</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>"No, it's good..."</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Strike is alone in bed, obviously. He’s not a fucking pervert, he doesn’t do this in public. But sometimes it needs to be done, and so much more in recent months, when he’s been without intimate female company to release some of this tension. Even when he was with a woman regularly, it’s not like he never did it. Sometimes coming is a basic necessity, like a good stretch first thing in the morning. This would help him sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He strokes himself up and down a few times, feeling the blood pumping down there, getting hard. His hand is light, his wrist loose, the motion honed by years and years of practice. He could do this on auto in a matter of minutes, but tonight this perfunctory need is mixed with something a little deeper.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She had a date. With another man.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike only had himself to blame. It’s not like the thought had never occurred to him that she would find someone else. It’s not even like he had never thought to ask her himself, though he knows he’d never managed to put it in those terms even inside his own mind, not until some other fucker had come along and asked first. So tonight is about regret for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he feels guilty for thinking of her when he does this, so he pushes that train of thought away, and lets a few disembodied images float up in his mind to aid the physical sensation of his slowly pumping hand, images from previous sexual encounters, things that have lodged in his mind from other, random places. A moment from two days ago, when a woman in skinny jeans dropped a coin at the top of the stairs coming up from the tube, and bent smartly down to retrieve it. He’d just let that slide at the time, of course he had, but he’d noticed. Something else now. Laying on a bed with eager lips around him. So good. His hand moves to hold his shaft a little more firmly. He sees the generous curve of a woman’s arse as he holds onto her hips, going at her from behind. Yeah, that works, he likes that. His hand speeds up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Becca Cunliffe coming in the office full of pugnacious defiance and attitude, head at ‘Fuck you’ angle and daring him to see if he could. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His hand stops abruptly, and then he resumes more slowly, regaining his focus. He goes back to whoever it was he was fucking on all fours. Doesn’t matter who, doesn’t need to think about that bit (and it could have been any number of women, it’s not like it’s not a favourite position, he only wishes he could still do it with the confidence of having two whole legs to steady himself when he wants to go faster and really lose it). Just a willing woman, a soft rump to grip and feel bouncing against his groin; a useful visual. Ok, back in the game now, picking up the pace again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Becca Cunliffe throwing him black rimmed eyes and running her tongue over her bottom lip and then lodging it in her cheek as though to say “Go on then, impress me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Strike is getting frustrated now. He just wanted to come, and ease away some of the feelings that had jabbed at him wordlessly today since she mentioned the date. The effort of dragging his mind away from her is pissing him off. But disembodied images aren’t powerful enough to hold her at bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>really</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> her, though, is it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thought bubbles up and he really should squash it down because, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes, you fucking prick, of course it’s her, she’s just not wearing her normal clothes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but actually the Becca Cunliffe who’s giving him all this cock tease attitude is not really just Robin dressed differently, so technically… </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, right, mate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinks Strike to his better nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He needs to come, and he won’t think of Robin when he does it, but if all that is going to work is Becca Cunliffe sauntering into his office and wanting to be bested, then that is what is going to have to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she does. She looks at him with that all that gobshite challenge and bowls past him as he stands in the middle of the room, the big black hoodie concealing her body, but the fishnets on her legs telling him it’s not from shyness. She puts her hands on his desk and sticks her arse out, throwing him a ‘dare you’ look. He comes behind her and pushes the pelmet-short skirt under the hoodie up past her hips. She’s got a thong underneath the fishnets, and she looks back over her shoulder and her eyes drop down to his groin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on then, mate. Come and have a go if yer think yer ‘ard enough,” she says in that broad accent, and wiggles her backside a little. He rips the fishnets, pulls the pointless black string thong to the side a little and lines himself up, hands on her naked hips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t got all day,” she says, impatiently antagonistic.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You won’t need all day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks. This is making short work of what he needs. He imagines himself pushing, sliding into her, all the way, and she’ll be noisy, just for chance to be bolshie if he tells her to be quiet. He won’t do that though, he’ll want to hear every loud moan she makes as he fucks her, and as he feels the release coming, he’ll hear her change from feisty belligerence to pleading, begging to come as he does. Oh, this is working, god yes, this is where he needs to be, his wrist is flying now, and he feels everything tighten and then he’s coming so fucking hard he feels like he exploded, and he vaguely registers a few ribbons of cum have managed to reach his shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pants himself quiet, and reaches over to grab some tissues. It’s ok. He’ll still be able to look at her tomorrow because it wasn’t her, not really. He would, categorically, never think of her like that, but Becca Cunliffe is complete fiction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, as he settles himself to sleep, his arm over his eyes, it’s not fictional Becca he imagines pressing a goodnight kiss into his stubbled cheek before a date at the Ritz and fictional Becca is never going to be able to make the ache for another, real date with the real Robin subside. But she got the job done for tonight. It’s good.</span>
</p>
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